


Truth & Consequence

by Maiden_of_Asgard



Category: Loki - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Dom Loki (Marvel), Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, F/M, Loki (Marvel) Does What He Wants, Loki is an ass, Master/Servant, Power Imbalance, Prince Loki (Marvel), Shameless Smut, Spanking, Truth Serum, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-07 21:55:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20982995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiden_of_Asgard/pseuds/Maiden_of_Asgard
Summary: Prince Loki Odinson takes great pleasure in making every minute of your life as his handmaid a nightmare, his pranks and lies keeping you in constant trouble. When you stumble across a witch selling truth potions one evening, you decide that a prank of your own is the perfect opportunity for some harmless revenge; who would be more frustrated by the inability to lie than the God of Lies himself?But Loki isn't so easily fooled, and his methods of punishment are a bit... unorthodox.





	Truth & Consequence

When you saw the tiny vial labeled  _ “For Truths” _ at an unassuming stall on a shady back-alley on Vanaheim, you’d purchased it immediately, your mind already conjuring up the best possible moment to use it. Its intended target had never been in question; if there was anyone at all that you wanted to see forced to speak nothing but truths, it was Prince Loki Odinson, the wretched miscreant whose lies had gotten you in all sorts of trouble over the past few months. 

First, he’d claimed that you’d spilled wine on the carpet in his room, earning you a very thorough dressing-down from the head housekeeper. Then, he’d accused you of stealing one of his books - for no other reason than to torment you, from what you could tell. It seemed to be some sort of game for him, to see the frustration in your eyes when every word he uttered was accepted without question. It was always small things, and he’d always generously  _ forgive  _ you, but the head housekeeper had begun to remind you over and over that you were lucky you hadn’t been banished from the palace for your impertinence, or worse.

You’d quickly begun to hate his handsome, smug face, and you wondered what you had done for the Norns to punish you in such a manner. You’d never even wanted to serve him in the first place; you’d been much more content serving some of the less-important ladies-in-waiting, too far from the royal family’s eyes to ever have to worry about any sort of trouble. While the other maids had been jealous of your sudden elevation in the household staff, you saw it as the nightmare that it truly was. No longer could you dally in the halls, or spend quiet afternoons reading in the library once your duties had been done. 

With Prince Loki as your master, you were never allowed even a moment to rest. He called you at the most inopportune times, he did nothing but criticize your work, he lied about you to your superiors, and he did it all without a trace of shame. 

At dinner that night, you served him his wine, careful not to spill a drop, despite your nerves. The prince looked up as soon as the cup hit the table, his eyes locked on yours, a cruel little smile gracing his lips. Heart pounding, you retreated to your place by the wall, your eyes downcast. He couldn’t possibly know… could he?

Your confusion only grew as the dinner went on; Prince Loki seemed to be drinking quite a lot, perhaps even more than usual, and yet he hadn’t said anything at all abnormal. He was his usual, charming, duplicitous self, poking fun and sending sharp little taunts into the conversation with careful precision. Perhaps you’d simply been taken for a fool by the potion-seller and wasted your coins. 

“Girl,” he called eventually, beckoning with one long finger, “come here.”

You stepped to his side with all due haste, your head lowered in deference. If he did know… but he couldn’t. The truth potion was undetectable, or so you’d been told. More likely than not, the prince only intended to play more of his usual pranks. 

“Fetch my riding crop from the stables and bring it to my room,” he said, leaning away from the table so that only you could hear. When your eyes widened, the prince smiled, a slow, vulpine sort of thing that caused dread to pool in your belly. “You aren’t going to disobey me, are you? Your record grows longer by the day, ambátt.”

“At once, sire,” you managed to reply, bobbing into a curtsy. 

You couldn’t imagine why he’d sent you on such a strange errand at such an hour of the night, but if you refused, no one would lift a finger to stop him from tossing you into the dungeon. You’d be lucky if the head housekeeper concocted no punishment _worse_ than a night or two in the dungeon, given her profound dislike for you. 

Prince Loki’s stableboy gave you a strange look when you made your request, but he must’ve been used to such strange requests, because he didn’t hesitate to give you the riding crop. You hurried back up the many steps and halls to the prince’s chambers, your skirts flouncing around your ankles at your brisk pace. It was very much like walking to your own doom; you knew the prince meant to torment you, but you couldn’t imagine  _ how. _

When you entered his chambers, he was already returned from dinner and waiting for you, sprawling on one of the large armchairs by the fire. His sharp smile returned as soon as he saw you, and he rose in one fluid motion, stalking towards you. “You seem tense,” he said. “Any wrongs you’d care to confess?”

“No, sire.”

He tsked, then produced a cup from thin air, offering it to you. “A drink, then, to soothe your nerves.”

You paled. It was undoubtedly one of the cups from the evening’s dinner service, and it couldn’t possibly be a coincidence. “Sire?”

“You served me this, girl. That means that it is fit to be drunk by a prince of Asgard, doesn’t it? You should feel honored that I am inclined to be so generous.”

“I—”

“Unless, of course, my little handmaid has moved on to better and brighter things, such as poisoning her master. That is the only reasonable explanation that I can think of to refuse your prince. Do you imagine the Allfather would agree?” He plucked the crop from your fingers. “Should we ask the guard outside my door if he would care to escort us to the king’s chambers for judgment?”

“No! I would  _ never,  _ my prince,” you protested. “I would never harm you.”

“Then you have nothing to fear. Drink.” He placed the cup in your trembling hands, and you took a small sip, nearly in tears. Though you had no great lies or conspiracies to conceal, the prince was capricious enough that he might see you harshly punished for even a relatively harmless prank - one that he himself might’ve played on any of his companions. “More than that,” he added when you stopped. “Finish it.”

When you’d drained the cup, he took it from you and vanished it, watching you like a hawk all the while. He twirled the crop in his fingers, regarding you silently, making your discomfort grow exponentially moment by moment. “Is there anything else, sire?” you finally asked, hoping that he’d tired of you. 

The prince reclaimed his seat by the fire, absentmindedly swatting the crop against his leather-clad thigh. “You did something very naughty, didn’t you? You put something in that drink.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but instead, all that came out was a barely-audible, “Yes.”

“Yes,  _ Your Highness.” _

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“What was it?” he asked. “What would you dare to taint your master’s drink with, little maid?”

“A truth potion, Your Highness.”

His eyes glittered. “And why would you do such terribly foolish thing?”

Your fingers dug into your skirts as you desperately attempted to hold back the words. “Because you lie so often, sire, and you cause me to suffer a great many punishments because of it.”

“I see. How do expect you’ll be punished for this grievous assault on my person, then?”

Faltering, you lowered your eyes, eager to break free from his gaze. “I will be lashed and sent to the dungeon,” you whispered. “If you are merciful, sire.”

“And if I am not merciful?” He leaned forward in his seat, eager at the sight of your distress, like a wolf on the trail of blood. “What is the worst that you could expect, my poor, foolish little maid, if I choose to be heavy-handed with the law?”

You closed your eyes, heart pounding so rapidly that you’d begun to feel lightheaded. “I would be executed, Your Highness, if it pleased you.”

“Do you think that I should have you executed?”

“No, sire.”

“Open your eyes. Do you trust that I am a fair and just master?”

“No, sire,” you replied, cringing at the insult, but the prince only looked more amused. His amusement never seemed to bode well for you.

“Come here. Closer.” He beckoned you forward until you stood almost between his knees. “Are you afraid?”

“Yes, sire.”

He reached up and hooked his finger through your belt, tugging you closer. You gasped, but you didn’t dare to push him away. “Are you a maiden, I wonder?”

The sudden shift in questioning left you reeling, and your cheeks reddened in response. No man had ever asked you something so impertinent, but Prince Loki clearly had no care for common decency. “Yes, Your Highness,” you replied stiffly.

“Ah, I see.” His hand left your belt, sliding down your hip. “Is that why you always have this same pretty flush when you’ve overheard me with a woman in my bed?”

“Sire—”

“I can always tell, you know. Your face is not one that holds secrets. Does it make you curious, little maid, to know that I am engaged in delicious debauchery while you polish the tables in my sitting room?”

You nearly bit your tongue until it bled in an effort to stifle the words bubbling up from your throat. “Yes,” you replied weakly, looking anywhere but his eyes, and when he squeezed your hip, you remembered to add, “Your Highness.”

“Good girl,” he praised, momentarily abandoning the crop on his lap so that he could unfasten your belt. It clanked as it hit the floor, and you flinched, your breath hitching. He tugged your shawl from your shoulders, then leaned back once more to admire his handiwork. “Unpin your hair.”

Fingers shaking, you reached up to unfasten your braids, combing your fingers through your hair under Prince Loki’s stern gaze. He spun his finger in the air, and you slowly turned before him, allowing him to inspect you. Even though you were still fully clothed, there was something in his eyes that made you feel bare.  _ Exposed. _ You shivered again, crossing your arms over your breasts. Had the room always seemed so cold?”

“What do you imagine that I am going to choose as your punishment?” he asked. “The lashing, or the execution?”

“The lashing, sire. Please, I—”

“Correct. Have you ever seen the lashings that the housekeeper delivers?” He shook his head in mock sympathy. “Nasty things. I’m not certain that your delicate skin could take it, little maid.”

You were rapidly spiraling into a panic, but the prince had asked a question, albeit a rhetorical one, and it had to be answered. “Yes, Your Highness, I have seen them.”

He twirled the crop between his fingers, his lazy smirk returned. “Perhaps you need a  _ gentler _ hand. Perhaps this latest little transgression of yours need never leave my chambers.”

Mouth dry, you couldn’t help but look hopeful. Prince Loki was cruel, true, but if no one else found out that you’d altered his drink, you would at least keep your head on your shoulders, and at least some of the skin on your back. The same could not be said if you were turned over to his guards. 

“Is that what you want?” Prince Loki asked. “Do you want to fall upon my mercy?”

“Yes, sire.” A beating would hurt, as would the insults that he would surely deliver along with it, but you were strong. You were certain that you could take it. 

“Bare your skin, then.”

That part of his punishment hasn’t really occurred to you, and you turned your back to him as you unfastened the chain holding up the neck of your gown, holding the fabric against your chest as the back of your gown pooled open. Goosebumps spread across your bared skin, a result of the cold and the fear and the anticipation of what the cruel trickster prince would do next. 

His knuckles brushed along your spine. “Oh, dear,” he said, leaning close enough that you could feel his breath on the small of your back, “I do think that you’ve misunderstood your punishment, ambátt.” Unexpectedly, he yanked down on the sheath of fabric, ripping it from your fingers. You trembled, and your gown pooled around your ankles. “Turn and face me.”

How would you turn, without him seeing every inch of your nakedness? Your hands couldn’t cover everything, and you knew that he would likely make you move them aside, too. 

“Why haven’t you done as I said?” he asked. “Hmm?”

“I… I am naked, sire.”

“Of course you are. Do you think that gives you a reason to defy me?”

“No, my prince,” you replied, forcing yourself to turn towards him, your eyes downcast. Why did he feel the need to humiliate you further? Hadn’t he already done more than enough?

He took hold of your hips and dragged you onto his lap, straddling one of his thighs. You cried out, horribly embarrassed to have your bare sex pressed against his leg, but he already had one hand cradling the back of your neck, holding you to him. “Shh, there, there,” he whispered, his other hand smoothing down your back and squeezing your buttocks. Your back was awkwardly arched, your neck craned at an uncomfortable angle. You tried to wiggle, instinct telling you to press your thighs together, but you couldn’t. He had you well and truly pinned, completely at his mercy.

You winced when he smacked your bottom, but your efforts to escape another blow only caused you to rub obscenely against his leg, and so you bit your lip and tried to force yourself to be still. 

“Comfortable?” he asked, amused.

“No, Your Highness.”

“Good. It is a punishment, after all.” 

The next blow was worse, the narrow riding crop making a much sharper sting. Your resolve to remain silent was quickly lost as more lashes rained down on your tender skin, and you soon had tears trickling down your cheeks. Every time you rocked against him, jerking away from the strike, the movement pressed your center against the leather of his pants, and you were horrified to realize that you were beginning to look forward to that little moment of pleasure that followed each swing of the crop.

He paused when you whimpered, taking a moment to trail his fingers along the curve of your hip. “What was that for? That little whine?”

“I don’t know, sire,” you replied, but the truth potion wouldn’t allow you to leave it at that. “It… it feels good.” You were immeasurably grateful that your face was pressed against his shoulder, your burning cheeks hidden from his view.

“Does it?”

“Yes, Prince Loki.”

When he delivered the next strike, it took you by surprise, but now that you’d admitted to yourself that your treacherous body enjoyed the feel of grinding against his leg, it was impossible to ignore. The whine that escaped your throat shortly after was pitiful and needy, and you actually dreaded the moment that he decided to stop your lashing, as it would mean that you’d have to face him once more.

“Get up,” he said suddenly, releasing you from his iron grip. You stood on shaking legs, your bottom burning and your cheeks wet, taking a step backwards as the prince rose to follow you. “Are you aching, little maid? Is there something that you need?”

Mortified, you tried to cover yourself again, but he captured your wrists and held them by your side. “Yes, Prince Loki,” you whispered.

He hummed in acknowledgement. “And if I allowed you to return to your chamber right this moment, would you use your treacherous little fingers to try to soothe it away?”

You shook your head furiously, but the truth potion betrayed you. “Yes, sire, I would try.”

Prince Loki grinned, his grip on your wrists tightening. “Even if I were to expressly forbid it?”

_ I hate you,  _ you thought. “Yes, sire.”

“Oh, you  _ are _ disobedient, aren’t you? That won’t go without punishment, you know.”

“You cannot punish me for a crime that I did not commit!” you cried.

“Being a fair and just prince,” he said, “I intend to do my part to ensure that such a crime never occurs.” He gave your shoulders a gentle shove, and you toppled back over the arm of the sofa, which he’d managed to back you against without your realizing. 

You scrambled for something to cover yourself with, but he’d already followed you, sliding his hand along your thigh as he knelt between your legs. He braced himself with one arm above you, leaving one hand free to stroke your breasts and belly, his fingers eventually dipping low to explore your entrance. The sensation was nearly more than you could bear, and you squirmed beneath him, letting out a plaintive little cry. 

He pressed a surprisingly-gentle kiss to your temple. “Do you still need more?” he murmured, finally pressing two long fingers inside of you. 

“Yes, sire,” you gasped, arching against his hand. 

“Good girl,” he praised, and you whined at the loss of contact when he withdrew for a moment to unfasten his trousers. “Would you like for me to make you mine, little maid? To show you exactly how pleasurable punishment can be?” 

The heavy, hot length of him lay against your belly, and your hips bucked of their own volition, your body desperate for relief. “Yes, Prince Loki,” you whispered, and he grunted when you twined your arms around his neck. You felt like your world was fraying and falling away, and you needed something to hold onto, something to anchor you. 

His surprise was replaced by a look you couldn’t quite place, but he didn’t push you away; instead, he looked you in the eyes as he slowly sheathed himself inside of you. “Perfect.” He withdrew, and then thrust into you more sharply, his eyes drifting down to your parted lips. Every ragged gasp seemed to spur him on, and you clung to him as he moved inside of you, the pain from earlier fading far away. “My pretty,  _ defiant _ handmaid,” he continued, his voice little more than a growl. 

One of his large hands cupped your bottom, angling your hips to allow him deeper, and as he did, his fingers pressed against the delicate skin that still burned from his crop. You hissed, but the sting mixed perversely of the overwhelming feeling of him inside of you, and your grip on his neck tightened. 

He grunted, apparently pleased, because his thrusting became more ragged, and he began to whisper filthy encouragement in your ear, telling you what a dirty, troublesome, good little servant you were, telling you that you’d never forget the feeling of his cock inside of you, that you’d scream his name when you climaxed.

“Sire—”

“Say my name,” he demanded, his touch nearly bruising. “Say my name, and you may come.”

_ “Loki,”  _ you cried, clamping down around him as you came, your blunt fingernails biting into his back. Later, you’d worry about the consequences of addressing the prince by his name, but for now… for now, nothing else mattered but the two of you, tangled together in mutual bliss. He spilled inside of you, kissing you as he did - your first kiss.

He seemed just as shocked as you that he’d kissed you, and he stood as soon as the heat and haze of the moment had begun to fade, his eyes becoming distant once again. “Did you enjoy that, maid?”

With his body no longer shielding you, with the warmth of him so suddenly withdrawn, the cold and uncertainty hit you once more. “Yes, sire,” you said softly, squeezing your eyes closed. The truth was a cold, bitter thing, as was the knowledge that it only gave him more power over you.

His eyes were on the fire. “What lesson have you learned?”

“That… that I should not try to trick you, my prince. That I should not deceive you.”

Prince Loki nodded, then waved, seemingly distracted. “Put on your clothes,” he said. “You may return to your chamber. I expect you to be on your best behavior tomorrow. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sire.”

You dressed quickly, wondering why his sudden coldness made you feel so pained.  _ It was a punishment, stupid girl, _ you told yourself. _ It was nothing more than him making a fool of you, as he always does. _ He’d have another woman in his bed by tomorrow, you had no doubt. You shouldn’t feel a pang of envy, but you did; it was worse, now, having seen that flicker of gentleness, knowing that you’d likely not see it again.

But you didn’t stumble across him entertaining any other women in his chambers the next day, or in the days following that. Prince Loki was every bit as teasing and capricious, but there was something else, some sort of pent-up frustration which even the lower servants in the palace began to notice. He was more brusque than normal, they said, more on-edge and biting. They warned you to be careful of him, as if such a thing was even possible.

And then, one evening at dinner, the noble Prince Loki Odinson stuck out his foot and tripped you while you carried a flagon of wine to his table, causing you to spill it all over him and his brother. He feigned outrage well enough, despite Prince Thor’s attempts to calm him, but you knew it was all for show - the glint in his eye was unmistakable. Your pulse raced, an anxious, confused sort of anticipation blooming in your chest.

“Go wait for me by my chamber door, you wretched little miscreant,” he ordered. “I’ll be up to deal with you later.”

**Author's Note:**

> from the tumblr request: "You think it’d be fun to trick the God of Lies to drink a truth potion, but your plans are thwarted and you end up drinking it instead. When Loki realizes what happened, he decides to have some fun."
> 
> It kind of escalated from there ;D


End file.
